


(You Are) A Balm to Soothe My Soul

by KaiserNoire



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Keith (Voltron), Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Changing Tenses, Eventual Romance, Flashbacks, I'm so glad that's a tag bc that is them in this fic, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, No Sex, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Possessive Behavior, Post-Canon, PreKerb sheith, Protectiveness, Scent Marking, Scenting, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, We don't know Season 8 in this house, keith's pov, so so so SO much mutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22596226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiserNoire/pseuds/KaiserNoire
Summary: Before the war, before Voltron, before Shiro blasted off to Kerberos, Shiro and Keith decided to get married. Two alphas. It wasn't unusual, but it also wasn't common.They did it only for legal reasons, of course.Or selfish reasons, Keith wasn’t sure anymore.“Aw, you are really worked up, huh?” There was no pity in Shiro's voice. No aggression. No aversion at all. Just affection. And as Keith filled his lungs with the somehow calming scent that he picked up from Shiro, he could tell that Shiro wanted to please Keith. Wanted to do what he could to make Keith happy.Keith basked in the feeling that swelled in his chest. It was odd, the way that Shiro was able to make Keith fall into such peace. And, there in the back of his mind, had been a thrill of having a fellow alpha submit to him. To care for him. It was overwhelming in the best way.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 260





	(You Are) A Balm to Soothe My Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Just so that we are all clear: Sheith do get together, in a way, and it happens before Kerberos. If that is not your jam, please exit now. If I get hate comments bc of the prekerb, then those comments will get deleted. You have been warned.
> 
> Also it's about 3-4ish years from the time that they meet, to the time that Shiro leaves for Kerberos. I am very vague in the fic because it doesn't really matter lol. I'm only mentioning for those curious. Have fun with your head canons! 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Our many pardons, we didn’t realize that the Black Paladins are married.” The alien, a being extremely tall and willowy, with droopy arms, swoops into a bow, and pulls their robes to the side. The slightly iridescent details on the fabric reacts elegantly, a light shimmer, as they catch the dwindling sunlight of the three suns on L’mann, and the intricate swirls sound like they are singing. But that might be because Keith is so very tired. 

Keith starts and blinks a few times before he responds. A small cough pushes its way though his throat, almost as a way to kick start his breathing again. “It’s not a big deal. We uh— we don’t really talk about it.” With the curious look that Keith gets from the L’mannian, he can’t help but cough again and then clarifies. “With others. We don’t like to make a big deal of it. For ah— diplomatic reasons. We don’t want treaties to be influenced just because Shiro and I are—,” and his throat seizes on him. It’s suddenly hard to breath so he swallows to help calm the restrictive feeling. It helps. If only a bit. “Married,” he pushes out.

The alien makes an affirmative sound, similar to a hum, and ducks in a small bow, nodding as they direct Keith down a hallway. “This way, Paladin— hm. Do you use your consort’s family name or him yours?”

Keith nearly chokes and bites his tongue at the same time. 

“Wh—what?” Keith croaks. _Consort._ The word throws Keith for a loop. 

“Paladin Shiro? Do you also use his surname? We were under the assumption that it is Terran tradition to share a family name. I was just curious as to how properly address you.”

Keith puffs out a breath and it does little to sooth him. “Don’t worry about it. Keith is fine.”

The alien nods and stops in front of a door. They wave their arm in a scooping bow one more time, and the door dissolves before them. “Your quarters, Paladin Keith. Should we be expecting you and your husband for dinner?”

“Yes?” Keith’s eye brows knit together. Why wouldn’t they?

“Wonderful. Please let us know if you need anything at all. Pleasant leave, Paladin.”

Keith drops his shoulders, trying to ease out the unnecessary tension there, as the guide walks away, and finally Keith is able to breathe again. As Keith’s shoulders slowly relax they quickly hike back up when he hears a sneeze coming from the bathroom. His hand twitches to the luxite blade at his waist, partially hidden under the long tails of his ornate jacket. But then after a cursory sniff to the air, he relaxes again. “Shiro?” Keith calls as he takes a tentative step forward, in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Yeah?” Shiro’s voice makes its way to Keith’s ears, slightly distorted with a weirdly hollow undertone to it, likely due to it bouncing off the stonework in the bathroom. “I see that they found you,” Shiro says as a section of the frosted semi-opaque wall that separates the bathroom from the rest of the spacious living quarters dissolves around him. He’s toweling off his hair, a small amount of water droplets collecting on the divot of his collarbone and on his pectorals. Something wild in Keith kicks up at the sight before him and he wants to rush to Shiro and push him against the wall. Mark up his neck. Put his scent back all over Shiro; put back the scent that Shiro just washed off. 

But Keith doesn’t. It wouldn’t be his place. 

Keith has to slightly flex the muscles between his shoulder blades in an effort to not tense them, but he allows for his fingernails to bite into the meat of his palm. The tense muscles aren’t going to help him in the long run, but the prick of pain on his hand will stop him from doing something stupid. Well, mostly stop him. As a whole, it is a vain attempt at stopping the low burning sensation light at the back of his neck and in his gut. Keith has to relax his hand when the sweat that collects there makes it hard to grip. He blinks and the moment is gone. It had hardly been a fraction of a second, but Keith isn’t going to let the want bubble up enough past the internal ache that he feels. Shiro might notice the change in his scent if he does.

Keeping his eyes level, Keith smirks at Shiro, “Yeah, they caught me. Who outed us this time? I bet it was Lance.” Keith shifts his hip as he starts unbuckling the thin tactical belt around his waist. He doesn’t miss the way that Shiro tracts the movement, hands slowing down to a lax toweling of his body. Heat starts to rise again, but Keith tampers it down.

Once Shiro finishes drying his hair, he runs his sleek prosthetic though the back, ruffling it in the process, and wraps the towel around his waist. Keith tries to not catalog the fact that Shiro always ties his towel low on his hips, where the thin dusting of a trail of white hair teases downward. Shiro had walked out of the bathroom naked, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that years ago Keith had forced himself to get used to seeing Shiro in the nude, Keith probably would have asked Shiro to put on some clothes. (For his own sanity, obvsiouly. Shiro always has a way of distracting Keith, but a _nude_ Shiro is nearly brain stopping.) But the communal showers at the Garrison and many years in space with the Paladins and the Blades had helped buff the need for modesty that is so common in American culture. 

Shiro flops down on the bed, and the small towel limply flops, nearly water logged. “Surprisingly? Hunk.” He stretches and arches his back a bit. A crack and then a groan makes its way to Keith’s ears and Keith’s dick twitches. “The bed is _really_ fucking nice.”

Keith scoffs as he kicks his boots off and starts shedding his formal wear, starting with his jacket. “He owes us a dozen cookies for that.” As Keith finishes the last of the gold buttons down the front, he winds his arm back and tosses the fabric at Shiro. “Get that wet towel off the bed. You’re gonna make a wet spot.” There’s a hit of playful scolding in his voice, the corner of his lips curling up.

Shiro ignores him, simply laughing as he rolls to the side, easily avoiding the black and white formal coat that the Garrison made so that it mostly mimics Shiro’s own. There are small stylistic difference, mainly the shape of the collars and Shiro’s has one more insignia on said collar that designates him as a very slightly higher rank than Keith, but all in all nearly the same. When Shiro rolls Keith gets a wonderful glimpse at Shiro’s ass, nice and tight and round. Keith’s dick twitches again. 

“The white chocolate, macadamia nut, and cranberries one?” Shiro asks, and the moment is gone again. Keith sees the way that Shiro’s entire face lights up as he pulls himself up on his forearms.

The sight gets blocked as Keith tugs his way out of the skin tight body suit, the black material dimming his vision briefly. Under all the formal regalia each Paladin wears their black underarmor. Makes it easier if they have to summon their hard Altean battle amor. They all practically live in form fitting bodysuits, so it’s always so freeing to peal it off at the end of the day.

“ _Keith,_ ” Shiro breathes, with just a hint of amusement in his voice. “You’re gonna get stuck.” The bedding rustles and Keith hears the way that the towel falls to the floor. He still can’t stand the way that Shiro can wrap a damp towel around his body, mainly because it always falls off and lands with the most unsatisfying _thwap_ on the floor from being water logged. Shiro’s been doing that for as long as Keith has known him. 

And that train of thought is how Keith doesn’t notice Shiro standing behind him, warm hands gently making contact with his neck and upper back. Shiro makes quick work of the last latch on the back of Keith’s suit and it falls down lamely around Keith’s waist. “Oh, thanks,” Keith responds, just as lamely.

“Of course, baby. What are husbands for, right?” Shiro laughs as he kisses the top of Keith’s head. 

The kiss doesn’t really mean anything. Well, it _does_ , but it mostly means something to Keith. And Keith knows that Shiro only does it because Keith has a bad habit of not undoing his suit fully, and the very last hook will always catch on his long hair, tugging and pulling and getting him stuck in his suit. Shiro knows and always helps him. Even when, like this instance, Keith doesn’t even ask. Because Shiro knows. And Shiro cares. 

Shiro has always cared. That’s why they got married in the first place. Before all of this; before the war, before Voltron. Before Shiro blasted off to his fated mission to Kerberos. 

Because Shiro cared… _cares_ about Keith. And wanted to make sure that Keith was okay at all times. Because Shiro knew that he had earned Keith’s respect and that _somehow_ Keith was able to just relax around Shiro. And Shiro treasured that. (For reasons that Keith couldn’t fathom. He was just _Keith._ ) And _because_ Shiro treasured Keith, he wanted to make sure that Keith was taken care of. Because Shiro was kind.

And because only family and mated pairs were able to send and receive daily communication to spacecraft who were as far away as Kerberos. So Shiro and Keith decided to get married. Two alphas. 

Only for legal reasons, of course. Or selfish reasons, Keith wasn’t sure anymore. 

But that had been about five years ago, and so much had happened since then. And that’s why that simple and innocent kiss means the world the Keith. Because it means that Shiro cares. Cares enough about Keith. Even about the fine hair on Keith’s head.

But that’s also why it _hurt_. 

Shiro has always been so casual and so tactile with Keith. At first Keith was sure that it was just something that Shiro did with everyone, because why would Shiro be so handsy with a fellow alpha (and yeah, Shiro knew that Keith was an alpha —he knew right away— even if almost everyone else always scoffed at the thought that _small_ Keith was an alpha.) And yeah Shiro was tactile with others. To an extent. 

But. As they got closer, a few years before they got married, Keith realized that Shiro had slowly stopped touching others as much as he touched Keith. And Keith’s heart soared with that knowledge. The competitive part of him, the proud part of him, the _alpha_ part of him, _relished_ the fact that Shiro chose _him_ ; chose _Keith_. But he didn’t, not really. Because they were just friends. (Not that Keith didn’t _love_ being best friends with Shiro, he did. He loved it more than anything that he had loved in a long time. And being friends with Shiro would never be considered less than _anything_. Because Shiro was _everything_. But still, there was a small intrusive thought that would neg at him. He would always stomp that down though.)

And then it happened. 

It had been back when they were still cadet and junior officer at the Garrison, one night Shiro came knocking on Keith’s door. It had been pretty late, very close to lights out, and it just so happened to be during one of Keith’s ruts. Shiro was beautiful, but he always was beautiful even back then, even dressed in sweatpants and a Garrison issued hoodie. 

_“Here, this might help,”_ Shiro said as he reached up to tug the hoodie off his frame. 

Keith had stood there, hair plastered to his skull and face wet with sweat; wearing a wrinkled shirt that he had thrown on and sweats that were nearly falling off him. (They _had been_ Shiro’s. But they had a rip on the ass from when Shiro had done one too many squats in bottoms that were already too tight on him. Keith had volunteered to “take them off Shiro’s hands” when Shiro had gone to change. He had offered, mostly as a joke, but Keith found himself being slapped in the face with a pair of sweaty joggers as Shiro emerged out of the gym bathroom, new pair hastily tugged on. Shiro had just said a simple, _“You’re smaller than I am anyway.”_ And Keith wasn’t going to argue.)

Shiro had looked him over, a smirk tugging at his lips. _“You sure you ok?”_

Keith had nodded, slow, with eyes wide and bright, and Keith’s scent changed. Keith knew that it had. Mainly because Shiro’s eyes dilated. It hadn’t been a drastic change, but Keith _knew_ Shiro’s eyes. He stared at them often enough. And so, when Shiro’s eyes widened Keith knew that not only had his scent changed, but that Shiro was very receptive to it. Which Keith didn’t quite know how to reconcile. Because Shiro _shouldn’t_ be receptive to his scent. Well, he _could_ because it was possible, but highly unlikely to happen. 

A second passed and Keith licked his lips. Shiro’s eyes tracked the movement. 

And then there had been a loud bang. 

Keith worked on instinct and reached out to grab Shiro’s left arm, hauling him into his room. Into the place where Keith knew was safe. Into his den. Into the place where Keith knew _Shiro_ would be safe. Keith could properly guard Shiro in his den, better than in the open hall.

A low growl threaded out of Keith’s lips, from where it had started as a rumble in his chest. 

_“Keith?”_ Shiro’s voice had been husky, quiet and nearly breathless. The air from his breath tickled Keith’s ear. 

Keith blinked. His whole upper body had been firmly pressed against Shiro’s torso, guarding the other from whatever had caused the sound that traveled down the hall; only the thin material of Keith shirt and Shiro’s tank top separating them. Keith’s eyes had focused on the way that Shiro’s adam’s apple had bobbed as he swallowed. Keith wanted to bite. Wanted to sink his teeth into that soft spot of flesh right in front of his face. He would just need to tip upward a bit, pull Shiro down to him, and then he would have full access to that soft scent glad teasing him.

Keith tiled his head. 

But then Shiro’s voice made him tilt his chin toward Shiro’s mouth, loosing track of Shiro’s neck.

 _“Keith,”_ Shiro lowered his voice, soft and gentle. _“You seemed really worked up. That was probably just a crash from one of your dorm mates.”_ Shiro’s hand came up to lightly rest on Keith’s arm. Keith twitched at the initial movement, shocked by how warm Shiro was, but then the second that Shiro’s hand started rubbing, Keith melted against Shiro’s front. _“Aw, you are really worked up, huh?”_ There was no pity in his voice. No aggression. No aversion at all. Just affection. And as Keith filled his lungs with the somehow calming scent that he picked up from Shiro, he could tell that Shiro wanted to _please_ Keith. Wanted to do what he could to make _Keith_ happy.

Keith basked in the feeling that swelled in his chest. It was odd, the way that Shiro was able to make Keith fall into such peace. And, there at the back of his mind, had been a thrill of having a fellow alpha submit to him. To care for him. It was overwhelming in the best way. 

Keith signed out and his shoulders relaxed. A few puffs of breath and he pushed up on his tiptoes, _“You have no fucking idea.”_ And then Keith yanked Shiro down. _“Can I?”_ Shiro pressed his palms into Keith’s back, pulled Keith even farther into himself. Keith’s instincts _reeled_. It had been a _yes_. He buried his face in Shiro’s neck. 

Shiro went willingly, tilting his head to the side, offering himself to Keith. And Shiro even suggested that Keith scent him in Keith’s bed. Where Keith’s scent was strongest. 

Keith’s head had buzzed with a sense of predatory accomplishment. He had been appealing enough that another person, another _alpha_ of all things, wanted to coat themselves in Keith’s scent. A low growl kicked up in Keith’s chest and he yanked Shiro to his bed. 

After that, Shiro’s hand always seemed to hover somewhere in Keith’s space or live pressed to Keith’s person. They would trade physical affection just as often as they would clothing items. And if Keith casually invited himself to join Shiro’s ruts, well, that was Keith’s prerogative. Either way, Shiro always said yes. 

It never went farther than scenting. Never. Even if, afterwards, when Shiro left Keith’s room in the early mornings or when Keith had slipped out of Shiro’s much nicer quarters, Keith would masturbate to the thought of Shiro laid out in bed, to the thought of Shiro chuffing as Keith rubbed his nose against the glad on Shiro’s neck. But that was Keith’s business and not something that he dared discuss with Shiro. Luckily for Keith, Shiro never asked.

Keith wasn’t one to refuse Shiro. Keith would refuse others, but not Shiro. Keith never refused Shiro. Over the years Shiro had offered himself up to Keith in many ways, and Keith always accepted. Because to have Shiro gently guide him though everything? There wasn’t anything like it. Shiro always looked after Keith, and Keith was so grateful. So grateful to have someone who cared about him so deeply. 

And even now, fast forward past many years and a war to defeat the same race that imprisoned Shiro and which Keith is a part of, Shiro is still looking after Keith. And while Keith loves it, he also doesn’t know what to do with this information.

Keith basically has everything he ever wanted, and yet, he is still so unsure. So confused. Because he doesn’t have _all of Shiro_ , at least not really. Not the way that he wants.

And he wants it. Oh, god, does he want it. And sometimes he’s pretty sure that Shiro wants it too. 

With ease that he has cultivated over years, Keith tugs off the rest of his undersuit and places it with the pile of his armor that Shiro collected at some point in the day and placed in the large wardrobe, right beside Shiro’s own white and black set. A matching pair of slightly worn armor. Keith hangs the suit on the empty hook, eyes scanning Shiro’s armor. He picks up a part of Shiro’s breast plate. There is a ding in one section that Keith doesn’t like the look of. He makes a mental note to have the ATLAS’s Altean replicators fabricate a replacement when they get back to base. 

“I’m gonna go take a quick shower,” Keith says as he walks, naked, to the bathroom. 

Shiro hums from his place under the obscene number of blankets that he has piled on the bed. Keith happily scoffs at Shiro’s antics. The planet that they are on is fairly temperate, and almost all the rooms, both meeting and living quarters, have some sort of large windows that open out to the outside environment. But Keith knows that Shiro loves his mound of blankets, that it helps him sleep when he doesn’t have his weighted blanket, so Keith doesn’t mind. Even if it means that he is going to be _very warm_ at night. Shiro is worth it. 

Shiro is always worth it. Worth everything.

“Use the teal one,” Shiro’s voice travels to Keith right before he steps into the bathroom. 

“Huh?”

“The teal one,” and Shiro’s head pokes out, white hair already disheveled from being buried under the blankets, “it smells kinda like lavender and sage.”

“Ah.” And a small smile tugs as Keith’s lips. “Don't fall asleep before I get back. They’re expecting us at dinner.”

Keith’s favorite scent is lavender. It reminds him of his dad. And of course Shiro knows. 

After a much longer and much more relaxing shower than Keith expected, he peels back a portion of the blankets, expecting to see a sleep warm Shiro, hazily reading on his data pad. Instead Keith just sees an endless sea of blankets. 

“Shiro, you better not be asleep under there.” Getting no response Keith pushes one long leg into the blankets to eel his way into the stack. His foot makes contact with Shiro’s warm body first, and then the rest of him is pulled into the depth of the comforters. Shiro’s strong arms position Keith nearly on top of his broad and still very much bare chest, and Keith can’t help the sigh that falls from his lips as Shiro’s metal hand gently threads through Keith’s hair, gently pushing Keith down so that Shiro can nose at the top of Keith’s head. 

“Hey,” Shiro says in greeting, words mostly muffled by Keith’s hair. “See? Not asleep.” And while it might be true, Keith can tell that those words are mumbled and heavy, that Shiro is struggling to stay awake.

Keith repositions himself a bit, trying to move so that he doesn’t accidentally knee Shiro in the dick, and Shiro grumbles at him. Keith retaliates by playfully nipping at the exposed flesh in front of him, catching a bit of Shiro’s pec on a fang. That gets a huff from Shiro and finally Shiro lets Keith settle how he wants. The unconscious and very much familiar show of dominance that will sometimes pop up when both are extremely tired, or drunk. Except when they are drunk —really, _really_ dunk— Keith will end up curled up in Shiro’s lap, a low possessive growl constantly on his lips at anyone who would get near Shiro. Granted, Shiro’s glare and tightly coiled arm around Keith’s middle (or firmly planed on Keith’s ass) would dissuade anyone from venturing too close. 

Not that anyone would ever challenge the _married_ Black Paladins. Even _if_ they knew that the couple were only married for the benefits, rather than because they were in a relationship. 

They weren’t in a relationship. 

They weren’t. 

Shiro’s heavy breathing reaches Keith’s ears and the realization that Shiro is probably asleep makes Keith sigh. 

“Guess we’re missing dinner.”

Keith doesn’t mind. Not really. He kind of feels bad for misleading the L’mannian guide that brought him to Shiro’s room —their room— but everyone will assume what they always do: that the _married_ couple wanted some alone time. Which is only partly true. 

And then if Shiro wakes up in a few hours, which he will, then he’ll probably find a few simple dishes spread out on the crystalline table in their quarters. Because their hosts are gracious. And then he’ll wake up Keith (probably with a kiss to Keith’s cheek or a bite to Keith’s ass, if he’s feeling playful) so that Keith can eat as well, because _Shiro_ cares for him.

As Shiro’s arms slacken and become heavy with sleep against his back, Keith finally allows himself to drift. Even if Keith hadn’t been escorted to Shiro’s room —their room— then he still would have vid chatted with Shiro, making sure that he was okay to sleep by himself that night. In certain cases some alien planets set of Shiro’s defenses and put him on high alert, and sometimes the only way to help calm him down, _especially_ when Shiro didn’t have his specialty blanket, was for Keith to slip into Shiro’s bed and basically act as a placeholder for the blanket.

And well, Keith’s scent probably helps as well. Even though Keith isn’t an omega, and even though all the evolutionary traits shouldn’t allow for Keith’s alpha pheromones to be calming to Shiro. But that was just another thing about them that just so happened to _click._ Had _always_ clicked for as long as they had known each other.

Keith shifts his hips to the left to give him a bit of room to adjust his sleep shorts, but Shiro’s sleepy hand on his ass basically stops his progress. Keith gives up easily, settling farther in the den of warmth that Shiro has created, lulled by the comforting scent that Shiro gives off when he sleeps, and Shiro’s familiar breathing on the side of his head.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a high likelihood that I'm gonna write a companion fic to this with Shiro's POV but in a different situation. I don't know when, but it's more than likely gonna happen. 
> 
> Want to hear me scream about my fics and toss out au ideas like I'm feeding birds in front of a pond? Follow me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/kaisernoire).


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